


My Addiction

by justcallmeasmodeus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Demon Dean Winchester, F/M, Heavy Angst, Reader-Insert, dean winchester x reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 21:18:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13598595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcallmeasmodeus/pseuds/justcallmeasmodeus
Summary: Dean Winchester hated suits, but he would wear one for you.





	My Addiction

Dean Winchester hated suits, but he would wear one for you. He had told you once why he hated them, something about how they were suffocating, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. Back when you actually talked, and had some semblance of a relationship. Back when you felt like he actually cared for you, back before the oddly shaped scar appeared on his forearm. Before his actions became more cold and calculated, slowly fading away from the warm Dean you knew to the cold person in front of you.

He was wearing a suit the first day you met him. You could still picture it; heather grey and paired with an emerald green tie that accentuated his eyes. It looked good on him, but it had looked even better crumpled up on the floor with the silk tie snaked around your wrists, binding you to the bed. So much praise had passed his lips that night; you had been hopelessly hooked from the get go. 

Tonight your hands shook with anticipation and need as you carefully slid his flannel shirt from his shoulders. Tonight his face was devoid of the warmth that you had fallen in love with. Tonight was different, but you weren’t sure why. 

It had been weeks since any praise had left Dean’s lips, but you kept coming back for more. You knew that this was wrong, your body screamed for you to run, but your heart kept your feet cemented in place. You needed this escape from reality. 

“Y/N.” Dean’s voice was stern, and you immediately dropped to your knees, hands held out in front of you to be tied. 

When you were with Dean you didn’t have to think. He did all the thinking for you, you merely had to follow directions and enjoy yourself. He took away all the pain from everyday life, even if it meant leaving bruises of his own. You always felt a sorrow laden guilt as you watched them fade from bright purple to yellow green, your cravings for more intensifying as the old ones faded away.

In the beginning you had helped him. You gave him what he needed, and he gave you what you needed. These days, he took more and gave nothing. You still came back, time and time again, for your own self-deprecating reasons. You were scared that without Dean you were nothing more than another face in a sea of strangers.  
Dean reached down, his left hand softly cupping your face. Your heart hammered in your chest as you met his eyes. He ran a thumb over your cheek, and you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. He guided you to your feet, pressing a kiss to your lips as his hand fell to your collarbone. It traveled down your sternum, his touch feather light and leaving goosebumps in its wake. When he reached the small of your back he pulled you close, pressing his body against yours. He grabbed a handful of your hair in his right hand pulled your head back, exposing your neck. 

He leaned in, pressing his lips to the newly exposed skin. You bit your lip to hold back a groan as he grazed his teeth against your neck. He brought his left hand up to grip your neck, slowly applying pressure until black dots swam in front of your vision. He had never taken it this far before, and your body was positively humming with adrenaline and excitement. You could feel your own heartbeat speed up where his fingers gripped your throat as you struggled to take in breath after breath, your lungs screaming for air. For a second you thought you saw his eyes flash black.

“Do you want me to stop?” His gruff voice sounded far away.

“No.” A rasp answered, and it took you a minute to realize that it was yours.

You sat in bed next to him afterwards, his spent form sleeping softly next to you while fear kept yours awake. You weren’t scared of him, and that’s what scared you the most. You wanted more, you wanted to please him any way you could. You had lost yourself.

Your legs protested as you forced yourself out of the bed. You dressed yourself quickly and quietly, pulling the collar of your shirt up in an attempt to cover the bruises already forming on your neck. For the first time since this began, you were the first one slinking out of the hotel room under the cover of darkness.

Every night you dialed his number into your phone, but you refused to give in, always hitting end call rather than send. You waiting and prayed for a call that never came. You thought that maybe if you stayed away he would see how how important you were to him, how much you mattered, but all you recieved was silence. Hours slowly turned into days, and days turned into agonizing weeks.

You looked at your face in the mirror, and a strangers haunted gaze looked back. Her eyes were dull and hollow, darkened by the pain you felt everywhere. Your heart and soul were shattered as you realized you didn’t mean anything to him. You had given him your light, and he blew it out. All you wanted was the pain to end.

 

Dean felt you sneak out. He didn’t sleep anymore these days, he didn’t need to. He wasn’t sure what had stopped him from killing you. He supposed that it was the last shred of humanity left, caught somewhere between the drive of the Mark and conscious (or lack thereof) of his new demon soul. That shred screamed for him to look for you, to follow you, to apologize, but it was silenced by everything else going on. He wasn’t strong enough to fight anymore, and he knew that if he found you again, you wouldn’t be lucky enough to get away.

Once this was all over he promised himself that he would find you, or at least try. He figured that you would render yourself untraceable, he would if he was in your shoes. He drown himself in whiskey to forget your face, and sang karaoke off key to drown out your voice. He let others touch him in an effort to forget your touch, but you were burned into him too deep to be forgotten.

One week to the day after Sam had managed to give him back his humanity he found you. He didn’t even have to look. Sam was reading the paper when he walked in to make coffee, and when he turned around your eyes bore into him. He nearly dropped his coffee cup as he stared at you from across the room, refusing to believe his eyes. There you were, sandwiched between a retired school teacher and an old farmer. A few generic sentences swam in the space beside your picture. They picked a good one; your eyes were bright, your smile full. There was no hint of the girl he saw last.

The sun warmed his gray overcoat, causing beads of sweat to roll down his back. His eyes burned dryly, his throat hurt with sobs he refused to release. He played with his collar absentmindedly, his emerald green tie dancing between his knees with the motion. Dean Winchester hated suits, but he would wear one for you.


End file.
